It's not forgetting that heals - It's remembering
by AwesomeDragons
Summary: Because even thought this girl was not Lara, and he was no longer himself, the feeling he had was something he faintly remembered. / Avallac'h thinks about his life. From Lara Dorren to Cirilla, and their travels after the books/before Witcher 3/in Witcher 3. Avallac'h/Ciri. Rated M for cave sex. There is a chapter 4!
1. The green-eyed monster

_After reading the Witcher series and playing the Wild Hunt, I couldn't keep the thought of this pairing out of my head. Somehow it makes so much sense, and I really wanted to think that the games were trying to make Avallac'h into a better person. So, as in lack of fanfiction about this couple, I started to drabble on something small, but then it turned to over 3000 words._

 _So, I do not own anything about the Witcher franchise, but I did write something._

 _/author_

He wasn't sure if he tried to make himself feel a certain way, or was he not trying to feel a thing. Although the most obvious, but not the strongest, feeling was confusion. And logically after that and because of it, he felt anger. Mostly at himself. But anger was good, it was something that he could control, something that was painfully familiar to him. For he had been feeling outraged for the better part of his life.

And because he was a man of logic and order, he really expected himself to act accordingly. And in that situation, anger was appropriate manner of approach. But silently, almost secretly.

He had loved. It had felt pure, right and decent. What was even better, it had also came with intoxication, ecstasy and a deceiving feeling of happiness. He had been in love. Deeply in love. And it wasn't what was supposed to happen, but it was warmly welcomed. Everything had worked out for him, and the pessimist in him was silently but firmly executed, and he had come to believe that not everything ended badly. He had given himself a chance to believe that some things, even if it were small and stupid and had absolutely no meaning what-so-ever, could end happily.

That was what he had thought. And he had been at peace. And then she died.

For what it was worth, his world had already crumbled shortly before. First it was a stabbing feeling in his gut when he realized that the woman he loved, and who he was promised, expected, _destined_ to be with, bare a child and hopefully live till the end of his or her life, glanced at a human mage. At that moment he hadn't been sure if he hated more the glance or the mage or her. He had certainly hated and rabidly envied the man when he took her to bed. He had felt sick at thought of it, and surprisingly been filled with worry. When he learned that the woman he so desperately loved and cherished was carrying a child, well, if he'd been any less the controlled and sophisticated man he was, he'd say he'd been in shock. For the thought that it truly had happened, and was not some cruel misunderstanding. And for the thought that in this beautiful and most elegant, the most perfect creature in the history of everything, she had the genes of this mage. Human mage. So when she died after giving birth to this special child, to the symbol of this boundaries-breaking-lust and the reason she had felt the need to sacrifice not her, not the mage and not even him, but the whole world. She was a traitor. And despite that, he'd still had given everything in his possession to be there when it happened. Not to tell her that everything would be alright, because he didn't believe in empty promises, but to simply save her. And if the must have, also the baby. He had thought that the love he felt for her, the undeniable, uncompromised, please-have-this kind of love, he thought he could love anything that had Lara Dorren inside of it.

He had been deeply wrong.

For all the love he had felt for Lara Dorren, the purest love a person can have, died when she died. But the anger, it very much survived and filled the now empty part of him, which he had given his sole life and purpose for. He had thought that he could never abandon his mission and life intention, but for her, he did. Thought at first little involuntarily but then overwhelmingly.

And when all of this was ripped from him and the rage took its place, he _twisted_.

This child was no legacy, it bore no connection to whatsoever, and had none of the love her mother had had. In one night, his love had chanced for the cold, calculating and even more logical hate for himself and the world. Ironically, he still had the intention of saving this world, their world. Because he felt the need to act, hate and have a revenge. That he would not give up, he would still do what he had promised to do. He was going to have a way to save all of the Aan Elle. It was just a pity that this quest mainly concentrated upon that one child. Which, unfairly, was taken by the relatives of the Dh'oine. He had no other means but to observe from afar. This child, and then the next child, and then the next one, until round goes the wheel, there was a child whose abilities matched those of Lara Dorren aep Shiadhal.

And that was what made him so furious. When he wasn't sure was he going neatly insane or was this what he deep down in himself felt was somehow _wickedly proper_. It popped into his mind that maybe like Lara, he too was a traitor. That when that something twisted in him, he really had changed by the roots of his personality. This ashen-haired girl in front of him wasn't Lara, and would never be Lara. She was a shade of something bigger and more powerful. In the veins of these humans, who originally were to blame for _everything_ , the genes had changed. The girl had changed. But then again, now he had changed.

So when he involuntarily smiled, when his anger was blown away for the slightest of moments, when his chest got the feeling of proudness and he didn't, for the first time, deeply despise this human girl, he couldn't deal with himself.

He trashed his laboratory. He burned papers filled with genetic knowledge and years, no, decades of study. He thought he would kill himself, for a moment he thought he would kill that young woman. But, as was a characteristic of his, he pushed it aside. For he had been ripped apart and had been putting himself together ever since, even if the pieces were in wrong order. So that was what he did, when he picked up a painting, brushed away the dirt from pens and inkbottles, rewrote down most crucial points of his previous experiments. He pushed his emotions aside.

Because even thought this girl was not Lara, and he was no longer himself, the feeling he had was something he faintly remembered. But when he previously had given himself in, sank in the feeling, he now felt the repulsive need to vomit. And then the anger came. Because he could not and cannot admit to himself that he was afraid.

He had convinced himself that he was noble, he acted for a just cause and he worked for a greater good, to ultimately save his people. And being afraid was directly result of what got him distracted in the first place. He was being selfish. An ironic image rose in his head, in which he was no different than the Dh'oine. He, in the end, was afraid of getting hurt. He, whose age was measured in centuries, was afraid that he was going to stop living because of it. Simply to stop breathing as, if he'd have to live it all over again, the action of inhaling would hurt too much.

But all was not lost. He still had his manners.

So when he prepared this not-Lara-girl to be presentable in in front of their, as he had once descripted, _supreme leader_ , he kept his voice steady, his hands peacefully resting on the girl's shoulders. Her green eyes met his in the mirror, before which they stood. He calmly explained the situation and gave advice and even offered support for this new mission.

Because, when Lara Dorren had a half-human child, it created a debt. Debt which this girl would now have to pay. For one child, there would be another. This ashen-haired, green-eyed and restless young woman would have a half-elven child. And as it turned out to be with the first child, neither this one would be sired by Avallac'h. But he had almost as important job. He would be the one to convince the girl to do this, for cooperation in these kinds of matters was crucial.

So, as the girl whose company both freed and captured Avallac'h, who made him remember and did it extremely painfully, was getting her hair washed and trimmed, her eyelids painted and a gown picked up, he didn't feel anything. No, he felt something and it was paralysis. Somehow he acknowledged that if it weren't for that mage, he wouldn't get hurt this bad. Twice.

Lara Dorren had been very envied as a mate. She had been exquisite, even in elven standards. Ironically, "elven" was the key word. The king of Elves could not perform with someone who clearly wasn't an elf. And hadn't been in centuries. That night she, in her own way comely looking young woman, the descendant of Lara, was taken to the chambers of King of the Alders in vain.

She had been furious. She had come to Avallac'h and shouted to his face. He did not appreciate her temper, nor her words or actions. If this girl was to be anything, even a memory, this was not worthy of her ancestor. She was not anything close to the grace and beauty, she was disheveled and mad, looking exactly like a pitiful human she was. What he saw in her, were the smallest drops of Lara, clouded in a mist of the mage. As he found himself completely and utterly loathing the human girl, a most unpleasant poke was born in the back of his mind. _This isn't her fault._ Their conversation had ended in a comforting hug.

But it wasn't until her daring and almost catastrophic escape from Tir ná Lia that he couldn't deal with. Avallac'h swore to himself, afterwards, that if he'd knew what would happen to the girl, he'd never allowed her to depart. As she was running between times that would come, and places that since then have seized to be, he was desperate. He was broken.

It wasn't until they met again. When he needed her, for the sake of others, and for the first time she needed him. She had grown, learned and matured. Her temper was smoothed, but in a way that wind rounds rocks in a desert. He knew that the Hunt was after her, that this was a question of life or death for her. To him it was a question of multiple lives that were depending on him. Rightfully he felt like a hypocrite and wasn't going to deny it. But it was a question for mutual benefit. And when the road stretched to be longer, harder and every new sunrise was a victory, they somehow understood each other.

He was much too reserved to talk about matters of heart. As it figured out, she was not. Avallac'h thought that this was because she completely acted like, and even though he didn't like remembering it, was a Dh'oine. It was profoundly morbid and disgusting, but he found himself desperately looking for signs of Lara. He would have been content to just compare the women with each other, and find nothing significant. He was disappointed in himself, to how ordinarily he had hoped to proceed to replace the woman he had loved with this cheap copy. But he was tired, so overpoweringly tired. One night when he had patched himself and the woman up, he admitted it to himself. He was tired of fighting. Nothing would ever, not in this world or any other, come close to what he had harbored for Lara. But Ciri was not Lara, and they shared no similarities that would matter. They were different people and completely different races.

But what he was scared to admit, and only did so in those dark hours when he was sure they both wouldn't make it to sunrise, was that he didn't care. It didn't matter anymore.

When they were wet from the rain and breathless from running, anxious and miserable from the fight, weary from the hiding, they found a place. Inside a moist cave he uttered her name to get her attention.

"Zireael."

"Yeah?"

Her eyes were big for a human. They weren't near elven, but they weren't ugly. He had found himself to be very fond of them. Her scar was a serious flaw in the complexion even if she tried to hide it behind that, now wet, hair. She didn't smile, but there were trust in her voice. Avallac'h wouldn't admit it, but he felt proudness to have gained even some of it. He approached her, with soft, long and unhurried steps. Ciri didn't look away, but she did raise an eyebrow for a sign of mild questioning. But she didn't move away as he proceeded to stand in front of her. But she did stiffen when they observed each other for a moment. He felt so beaten.

"… Avallac'h?"

He leaned in closer, so close that their foreheads almost touched each other. She welcomed the warmth of another body, trustingly tilting her head upwards. He hugged her. And gave up.

"Please help me."

His plea came straight from somewhere deep and hidden and well-guarded. In all of his lifetime, he'd say that it was one of the truest things he'd ever uttered. But if his request was pitiful, he'd had no words for what he did after. For he, bit by bit, almost sluggishly, breathing warmth into Ciri's face, pressed his lips to her slightly colder ones.

He did not know what galloped in her mind, or if she'd ever made a well-measured decision in her life. Or if she, just like he, acted with the stronger powers guiding her life. She grabbed her hands on the elves sleeves, just above his wrist. It felt like a frantic act, thought it was made sharply. Pulling his hands lightly she threw all of her grieve and worry, as well as exhaustion and disbelieve in that kiss. She pressed herself against the elf, and in his head he didn't know what he was doing. But he knew he would die if he stopped.

And somehow, this cheap replica of Lara Dorren was a person.

More importantly to him, in its own, twisted way, it felt pure.

He wasn't surprised that she didn't even flinch. Because she, as he, was beaten. She had been scarred and abused and had grown in a very uncertain environment. She, just like he, was not really _there_ but continued to live because they had little choice in the matter. And whatever did this girl realize it, she was easily manipulated in this sort of actions. It had happened in her past, it had also happened with Eredin. She longed for love, and made absolutely bad decisions to gain it. So he wasn't surprised when she was eager and hungry. But what he was surprised by, was that his actions rose to match hers.

He was tired of waiting, he was hurt and crushed. But above all, without knowing it, he was frustrated. With all that was once promised to him, but which he didn't receive. By living with the knowledge he never would. By being daily reminded by it, and having to work with it, and founding something like a comfort in her eyes. A little piece of serenity.

And that was why, he and she collided. As a result from series of events, and unhealthy reactions to them. By hunger, disappointment and the understandable need to be with someone. They were both alone, and that was part of the reason they came together.

His hand slid up her sides, as he firmly pushed her against the un-even, probably cold and wet cave wall. He acknowledged that the wall was probably hurting her back, but she gave no sign of it. She had entwined her arms around his neck, and was giving into anything the elf was offering. He felt horridly selfish, because all that was rummaging through his mind was the unfulfilled need to have her, and let her have him. He knew, that even if the woman was fond of the elf, even to go so far and say the girl felt attracted to him, it was not love. Not by his standards. But, as it turned out, the oh-so-noble elf kept going nonetheless.

Clothes had never felt such an obstacle before. They had never felt so hard to unbutton and they couldn't get off of them fast enough. And to the contrary of everything he lived by, he felt he had no time. But still, he did not hurry. He was not hasty, and he was very throughout.

"Wanting to make that elven-baby now, huh?"

Her voice was flushed, and it had dark, uneven color of humor. The trance, the moment was over and he was stopped by this rudeness, shocked by the lack of suitability, as if she'd smack him right in the face. There, on a chilly stone floor where they lay half-naked, he once again grew angry. His voice was cold, quiet and it tampered in the borders of fury.

"How dare you."

Her eyes glistened with a suddenly risen, silent challenge. He understood, but he could not calm himself. This girl, she too needed to understand. That was this just because before, when they strolled beside the river in Tir ná Lia, he had hoped for this. But only with a different elf. Was this, in his sick and bitter mind a solution, a back-up-plan. To put it shortly, she needed to know what had driven him to do this. And that was something to slap the elf across the face. She did not completely trust him, but he did not blame her, but didn't like to be reminded of it. But even if he wanted to, he could not entirely calm himself.

"This has nothing to do with it."

He fought with the rabid sensation to leave her there, for he knew that it would break something. And they both did not need any additional breaking. So they did what they could, and it translated into doing nothing. They stayed still, watching each other. This time, her voice was colored with regret as she broke their gaze.

"Forgive me. Please. I didn't intent to hurt you."

For a moment, he stared at her. Then his lips curled up in a bizarre smile. He leaned further down to kiss her salty neck, to leave a wet line behind her ear. He spoke calmly this time, tender and somewhat warmly.

"You, my little Swallow, have already broken me."

He continued to touch her skin first with his tongue, and then with his teeth.

"But I think…"

She lay there, praying to the sentence to be over with. For this whole morbid moment to transform into something else, and be what it may, the time to continue flowing. His warm mouth near her ear felt too exhilarating.

"That in somehow", he couldn't look in her eyes. He would lose himself in them. "You also mend me."

There were little words after those. She was overpowered by the feel of this bigger, older elf and his touch. Her thirst and his hunger were extinguished there, in their temporary hiding place. She could not oppress a whimper, and he was deaf to all other sounds. When she whispered his name he thought, for a brief time, that it all had been worth it.

When the morning came, he was at peace.

 _SPOILER ALERT – if you haven't read the books, and you are planning to, you probably shouldn't read this._

 _Just for the record, I really think that all of the characters from this amazing franchise has some sort of a problem. I mean, look at Geralt and Yennefer. He was sleeping with Fringilla when Yen was being tortured, and then LIED about it (but I'll give him some slack, knowing that it would have just hurt Yen). No wonder they couldn't raise a child straight, Ciri practically slept with a guy for a horse (who then died on top of her) and later hoped that Eredin would "force" her to fornicate._

 _So I decided that Avallac'h would be no better, and wrote this! And also because I really, really need this pairing to happen._

 _So please, comment for the sake of my self-esteem, which highly depends on the opinions of others (even better if it's a stranger from the internet)._


	2. Strange bedfellows

_First, I'd like to officially thank all that have commented and favored this! It means so much to me._

 _Anna, rhf1229 and monims, who took the time to review and bruselOKC who favored!_

 _Second, this was supposed to be a one-shot. Ah well. Guess I just can't keep it in my pants._

 _Author /_

They kept constantly moving along this daunting, new place. There were times that he was sure the unseen sky upon them cracked, and the wind blew man's screaming past him. With his guidance, with her horror, their haunting journey had started when they underwent a portal to another world. If not for the bizarre, screeching sounds the giant flying animals made, she'd almost be able to imagine she was lost in Brokilon again. The change between day and night was blurred by overshadowing forest, which leaves were larger than they should be. Plants jabbing their feet made walking rigid. If she hadn't felt someone ripping and pushing her forward, she'd faint from exhaustion. They hadn't the time for sleeping anymore, he didn't stop until she fell to the ground, and he had to wearily reach down and tear her arms around his neck so he could carry her. He was sure that if Eredin and his riders didn't catch them, they'd die by escaping them.

They had been located. He could keep up the speed for a week after their hiding place in the cavern. Seven days, in which she had been unconscious on and off for two. They had ate hurriedly three days ago, and she had last drank a splash of water four hours ago. They were on the limits of her strength and on the borders of his. But they couldn't stop, as without horses that Eredin had, and the incapability to use her powers, the riders were always a two-hour long horse ride away. But mounts needed rest, and couldn't move in thick woods, so he placed all his hopes in that he could out run them long enough, even if their chasers rode the animals to death.

Getting away from this world came down to his knowledge. He knew where the next portal lay and could read their way from the stars. They had reached it half a day ago. He had wished they could have taken it, but when the riders were so close, it would have been too predictable. So when he reached the portal with her, he took another trail between the impenetrable pushy undergrowth, so they could disappear in the darkening night. She felt hot against his chest, and it struck him she had a fever. He had to stop, or this all was worth nothing. So, merely miles from the next portal as he carried her too slowly, he had to lay her down. He tried to decrease her temperature with stripping her down to her underwear. He tried to feed her and force water down her vortex, but her damaged body started to violently spasm, and she threw up. His eyes got a stinging feeling, as something was stuck in the back of his throat. He started desperately chanting regardless of his fatigue, and thought that if he'd die, she'd hopefully find the portal on her own. His tear left a clean, small line on her dirty face. Forcibly, he mustered the will to complete the spell. And her chest moved more steadily.

He crept himself closer to the pile of her clothes, and dragged forth the piece of leather she had had strapped on her back. As he unsheathed the piece of iron, he knew that the sword was too short and too light for him to fight with. But it was all he had. So he grabbed it tightly on his other hand, and sat on his knees to wait for the worst.

But it never came. Morning did, and when the forest was slightly brightening, he heard no other voices than her slow, stable breath. He allowed himself to fell next to her, for how long, he didn't know.

"Avallac'h…"

"Avallac'h!"

Something shook his shoulder. The voice calling to him was little and weak.

" _Avallac'h_ , please wake up!"

His eyelids felt heavy. Something wet was trickling down his lips. He realized someone was trying to make him drink.

"Please, please, please… You can't die on me, not you too."

Her voice was painfully heartbreaking. He opened his mouth that her task was easier. She wept with relief when he finished the last of their tiny water supply.

Against all odds, three days later they had seemingly mislead the Red Riders and their black-haired leader, they managed to find the next portal. They had to await in front of it as it was yet to open, and listened to the silent, murderous air the forest had. In their trip, they had not seen any living creature besides the flying mammals, whose chilling shrieking sound shaded their anticipating.

When the next world opened in front of them, there was no telling which one was more grateful. For it was much more similar to their planets. And the sounds the wildlife had, they were more recognizable thought not familiar. They set up camp between the open woods, near a quietly flowing stream, and made a fire.

"Do you think we're safe?"

"When we cross that river," he gestured to a long, brown-colored canal on the mountainside, which was roughly three day's hike away, "we should find a portal to a world they won't be able to follow us to."

Her voice had disbelieve in it. "What world is a one that they don't follow us to? Should we even dare to go such place?"

"No Zireael, it's not that they wouldn't follow us. It is that, the portal, opens only twice in a year. So we should be a safe for a while."

"Half a year? I can't go away for that long!"

"You don't have much choice, Swallow."

So when they lay on the soft, jade colored grass and had no roof over their heads, she inspected the stars on this continent. They were surely new to her. Even if the sensible thing to do was to sleep, they both had too much on their mind. But as all they tried to do for now, was to stay alive and keep moving, moments like these should be used to rest and not to gaze at the stars. They lay close to each other, as if one of them would move a hand, they'd touch each other. It would have been peaceful, if in their mind, there hadn't echoed a constant touch of danger.

"They're beautiful." He guessed she was talking about the suns far, far away, as she continued.

"Imagine, our sun is somewhere up there."

She seemed oddly sure of the fact, that one of those stars was the one that her world was rotating. It undoubtedly was necessary for her to believe it. That even if their trip were so extremely extensive, she could still see something that was familiar. That she could stretch her hand and visualize, that she could touch home.

"Avallac'h?"

He turned his head to face her. She kept looking up on the multiple universes, as if she was making sure that they wouldn't move.

"I really miss Geralt. And home. If there was any."

His answer was plain, "If you have loved ones, Swallow, you have a home."

She made a move with her sleeve, as something glistened in her eye.

"I…" she hesitated, and then rose to her side an put a hand under her head, to support it. "I really do appreciate your help. If not without it…" Unmentioned words hang in the air.

He gave her one of those rare, reassuring little smiles he had. But said nothing.

"Avallac'h?"

"Yes?"

"I do really care for you. For all the effort you're putting into keeping me safe."

His eyes found the night sky again. How could he answer? Everything he did was because he could _not_ do them. He pleadingly needed her alive and well, for his own egoistic and also altruistic reasons.

She moved over from her spot, to shift herself right next to him, huddling her body to the warmth of another person. He stiffened. But kept his silence. Her sudden need for this intimacy was distressing and soothing him. Now when he lay there on his back, his hands folded on his stomach, she pressed her chest against his side, and rested her head on his shoulder. Cuddling with her like this felt impropriate, but it was disabled by appreciating the fact that she was breathing, her heart was beating and her hand tangled lightly on his robes. It felt good that she was there, her hair tickling his chin.

However the lovely serene moment ended when she lifted over, and raised her head to place a soft and small kiss on his high cheek. He left out an uneasy groan.

"Zireael."

She continued to kiss his jaw in the same manner, but the movement was fearful, like she was afraid of her actions. When her lips neared his, he turned his head faintly away, shutting his eyes. She pressed her forehead on the side of his face.

"Zireael, we should not."

He should have guessed, that when he had crossed the line, she had come to the conclusion that the line could be moved to a new place altogether. But between their fleeing and him dreading for this woman's life, the details of their shared act of comfort, almost eleven days ago, had slipped his mind. It all came vividly back, as her breath tingled on his skin as she spoke, her voice quiet.

"What does it matter, do we or do we not?"

He comprehended that it mattered to him. One time could be counted as a mistake, an experiment on a long road. But if there would be two, it would mean something.

"Because we can never go back."

She didn't take it for a resistant answer. When she made a move to kiss him nonetheless, he had to grab her shoulder, swinging him on top of her, restraining her under him. Irresistible, he studied her eyes. It had been so long, an excruciating eternity, that he had forgot. As Cirilla had the eyes of Lara, he had sworn to never forget where the tiny similarities lay, and what was even marginally dissimilar. And now, he could no longer tell resemblances or differences, there was just this one set of eyes. That green color of them deceived him. That he could be happy. So he lowered his eyes.

"Because if you let me have you again, Swallow, I do not think I might be able to stop."

They both knew these words were not going to convince her. They just about convinced him. For Avallac'h, it was hard to think straight, now when his blood was rushing to his ears, and it bothered him. But he said what he could, as it was better to say something, anything, than do rash decisions. He couldn't help his hand slipping from her shoulder, to glide down on the side of her hand, and ending in her slightly elevated hip.

"For if you let me love you", he wasn't sure which alternative he was more terrified of, "I think I cease to do much else."

"I-", she struggled to find words, "I need you." Her hand played with the seam of his robe, "couldn't we just," she swallowed when her fingers started pulling it, "couldn't we just," his hand trembled when he feebly lifted it up to her stomach, "couldn't we-" he lowered his lips to her neckline, speaking grew hard for her, "just…"

Restrained, he kissed her lips slowly and lightly, as she started to pull him closer by force. He didn't let the gap between their forms to close. Because he could do this, he could just taste her, and then stop. When he didn't move, her hands changed direction and tried to find a way to the heated skin on his chest. He realized he could not prevent her from getting under his clothes. His fist closed around the fabric of her shirt, as his left hand, near her head, tried to keep him separated from the unneeded contact of their bodies. She begged in a doleful voice.

"Please Avallac'h"

Releasing her, he drew away from their collation, falling back to his side. His words were breathless.

"Ciri, no-"

She launched herself at him, and his final desperate act was to raise his hands on her waist in an intention to grab her and lift her. But her mouth was on his, and then it was on his chest, and her knees kept moving lower beside him, as he stayed down. She slipped from his palms and his hovering right hand unwillingly lingered to her hair when she progressed to open the laces on his pants. He reluctantly gasped and his grip on her curls tightened, as he was submitted to the cool air. Her tongue slid over him, with him murmuring arguments which continents he didn't know. He involuntarily pushed her head forward, and she eagerly obeyed. This contact developed to wet and tight as she leaned on further, and his left hand teared a handful of grass from the ground.

He felt how her silvery blond head moved for one, two, three times before she stopped for air. And in that crucial moment, he exceedingly forcefully tossed her off of him. Her back made contact with ground, and he heard how air escaped her lungs. He swung over her, both knees in the side of her hips. Her inhalation was companied by an insignificant whine of pain. With one hand fiercely stripped open the blouse above her corset, and other hand callously trying to unfasten the front of her pants. She moaned when his teeth came in contact with her collar. He withdrew her pain slowly with his kisses, and his movements when his fingers snuck into her slacks.

In short time, her hands bolted to her sides, and she wiggled as she struggled to pull down her snug trousers. She managed to lower them halfway down her thighs, when he couldn't wait any longer. He rolled the woman over, and bit her neck as he guided himself to harshly thrust into her.

"Avallac'h!" With her scream, a bird fly from a near tree.

She whimpered as he moved, he's left hand enclosing on her chest, his right hand ensuring that she kept repeating his name. When he left a bruised teeth mark on her left shoulder, she cried in a manner that he couldn't take. The elf was thrown over his limit when she reached hers, and their voices tangled to each other. As her body eased, he kept kissing her back. To make sure she was there, it was real and that he wouldn't be alone.

 _/ Author_

 _So… this happened. I have no regrets._


	3. Method in the Madness

_Felt like it wasn't quite finished. But this is the last one, I promise. Avallac'h really puts the A in Angst._

 _Author/_

The elven sage had always thought himself as a calm, calculating, intelligent being which was capable of anticipating and foreseeing the series of events, when they would happen and what they would contain. Knowing how he should react to them, how he would get the best possible solution on his, and elves sake, was what made him a knowing one, because he _knew_. It was in his power to reason, study and learn. So he didn't know how he had failed to foretell this.

One could not start to react to things differently, even if he could change his actions. He could reason with himself, he could conclude a solution which would lead to a better acceptance on his part, but he couldn't start loving things he didn't love. For a long time his nature had hanged on a mission, his way of building his life upon it, and his way of reacting on it. He didn't learn to love the elves, it came to him. A love for his people, and the way of their living. Lara had been an elf, in every meaning. In her, _she_ , was a perfect image of a perfect elf. Her manners, her actions and her looks, it all circled up to be what fascinated Avallac'h to no end, everything in her made her a person that he couldn't help falling in love with. He couldn't stop the pleasure resulting from looking at her, speaking with her and understanding the way she was and how she felt. He didn't know how her idealistic mind didn't give him a hint of how she'd took such a lover, like Cregennan of Lod. Because he should have known. Because that was the way she was.

So when he had collapsed, he should have predicted that forgetting her, somehow hating her and acting like he accepted the way of events had turned out to be, wouldn't help him. He had been a ticking bomb, waiting for a push to send him over the edge.

His love for his people, which had escalated with the love for Lara specifically. When she was torn from him, his people and his mission gave him a reason to build his life and nature on. So when he had walked to that un-lucky bedchamber which kept Auberon's body, he came across the knowledge that it would all fall apart. Their King was dead.

Their people scattered, and afraid, the Red Riders rose to lead and disagreed with the only way the sage knew they should act. With Elder Blood lost, and their lack of patience for him to _fix_ things. The Rider's own miserable beings led them to believe that the only way they could save themselves was to throw her, her elder blood, across the sky and time and rip her and drain her and use her. But with his love for Lara, ignored but not forgotten, he had found remembrance in Zireael. And his love for his people didn't overpower him, for he found himself not approving, and taking action to stop it from happening. The elven sage had come to Ciri's help, against the Red Riders.

He knew it was mocking him, how it all had twisted from the shackles of events to be something completely altered from what it was supposed to be. How his love for the Aen Elle had caused his love for the she-elf and his love for her, well, had hid itself in the ashen-haired and strong-willed woman. Why he found, in her, the last opportunity for his happiness, and in the same time the future for everyone else. How this green-eyed-monster, without particularly acknowledging it, called to him to be with her. Her manners were dissimilar to Lara's and her looks also. But her mind, well, it confused him. He had tried to solve it, why she captivated him, when everything he hated and all that he loved was found in the same being. It felt like drinking poison, because he had wandered the desert for a lifetime.

It was so hard to deny anything from her, even if he knew better. He let her intoxicate him, he let her took him and build him, and let him love her, with love that he hadn't known before. It befuddled him how he, Crevan Espane aep Caomhan Macha, Aen Saevherne, which converted into the knowing one, was so unwise. How this all was against and for his nature, and it was becoming unbearable obvious that he was descending into untainted, solid madness. That when she'd die, which was inevitable in any case, he'd die. The fear of it tried to burst into flames every second he let it pass his concentration. He told himself _he_ couldn't be afraid of death, was it his or anybody else's. He wasn't a dh'oine, he wasn't afraid of the end of his life, his sole purpose was not to breed and end up bloody on a battle field, or old in a bed, or hanging from a rope without his legs touching the ground. And still, watching this woman come back from her morning runs, to train her swordplay, do witcher practices in an attempt to not let her skills dull, was to Avallac'h something he hadn't even dreamed to hope for. In those moments he wasn't afraid, he was alive.

He tried to teach her how to master her unwanted ability's, but it proved to be unsuccessful. She was too unsteady, she didn't understand her powers and her movements were too hasty. And she couldn't learn them theoretically. Day by day, they fell more and more into training her skills with the physical way of battle, and not the one's she was born with. And then month by month, their shared living arrangements fell to ideological battles of wits, exchanges of dialogue and even the elf teaching her about elven history.

When the half a year neared its end, he had experienced something that he thought he had left long behind. But she was not Lara. It became unbearable apparent by the way she acted with him. They had made love twice before they reached this place, and it didn't went un-reminded by the silvery blond. Couple weeks past their escape she had made another attempt to get close to the elf, but Avallac'h had managed to end their burning kiss which had left the girl irritated. It could have ended then and there, if it weren't for the elf's own irresponsible actions.

He was familiar with this world, for he had visited it before. This part of the realm had to be inhabited on some point, because it bare a small, cottage-like structure which was badly rundown with the time of nobody living there. They had constructed and cleaned for days for it to be livable. Now when they had shelter and a tiny fireplace to warm themselves with, the escape didn't feel so insufferable. But two months after their settling down, he found himself yet again losing his well-behaving manners and control over himself, when her attempts caught him off-guard. He had fucked her on a simply-assembled table he had been using for studying his own-drawn maps of stars and planets. He'd been possessive, rough and they had taken enough time for them both to say things they came to regret afterwards.

It had shook him to firmly believe that, for what she had told him to be on her mind, he needed a clear head to keep her alive. Her plans were insane, and he couldn't round them even if he tried. They had fights up to hours when she refused to listen.

So despite their growingly friendly company-ship, she was angry when he had to turn her romantic endeavor down, yet again.

It had ensured a vulgar argument in which Avallac'h was forced to resort into a falsehood, when she was demanding an explanation. He had, for his shame, told her that whatever he thought he had felt for her, it wasn't there anymore. It had hurt him how easily she had believed it, for it was a poor lie. But it was easier for him that way.

Fairly enough, they had continued their co-existence and even towards the end of this ground-shaking six months, their relations with each other took a friendly tone once again.

As the portal opened, they were ready, their plans carefully perfected and her mind made up. All he could do for her now was to aid her, and it felt excruciating to him. That she would not take his council so she'd change her mind and leave this surely fatal quest to be. He knew she couldn't do it without him, and even if he knew better, he couldn't deny her his aid. With it, she'd die in the end and without it she'd die the second she'd set foot on Skellige. So when they jumped to another world, and she relocated them in the woods of the Island, he knew something was deadly wrong.

Eredin's laughter filled his ears with a morbid sound, and a bodiless force pushed him to almost lose his balance. It burned his chest, his eyes, and his vision became blurred. It took more than a mere minute to recognize what was happening to him, and why. But the feeling was eased by a grip by the woman standing next to him, shouting in the howling wind. He had to pull himself together, concentrate and help her repel their attackers. It proved worthy when they stood their ground, blinking from one place to another. But he failed to follow her as she jumped, and his teleportation inside this world shifted.

It took him a long time to locate her. Apparently she had had an adventure of her own, and had demonstrated that her skills were that of a true heiress of Cintra. Her natural approach of claiming allies was undeniable. But death was always on her heels, and every place she had visited had burned down or was demised by ice. His search became more straightforward as days passed, and his time was ending. But he did find her again on Skellige, feeling how her hand gripped his shoulder, trying to jerk him away from the boat he was pushing off the shore. She cried for him to stop and help this new friend of hers, but it was none of his concerns. When she wouldn't halt, a spark of blue light escaped his fingers, and her words were cut midsentence. She fell backwards for him to easily catch her and lift her. He laid her unconscious body near the helm, and gathered his strength to push the boat on the dark sea. Hearing horses neighing behind him, he swiftly threw himself onboard. He didn't look back, but instead collected a pair of words to illusion a glowing ball, which slowly rose to the air.

He left her on The Isle of Mists, a residence of secrecy, once peace and now protection. Returning without her showed to be harder than excepted, and his mind hazed its usual sharpness. He felt himself falling, altering, he felt throbbing agony as his mind was cut with a knife-like object. He could tell out shapes, voices, but it was all his dull mind could comprehend.

There were times he could see a face, could act, and there were clearance in his mind. But for the most part, he wasn't certain who he was and what he was supposed to do. He just, was.

The immense pain was what woke him. It sprung into his veins, it ripped out his insides and melted his organs. All he could do was scream, and afterwards not even that. It wasn't guaranteed he was alive, or was he dead, and how he wished everything would come to a conclusion, and leave his damaged body to be. The black curls in front of him touched his face, a fist pounded on his chest, and he found himself to be capable, for act of desperation, to utter out words.

" _Coalle… Coalle… Canatad…_ "

That form which kept him, it gave away. Brightness filled his senses, he thought he could once again hear a flute in another world. It called to him, it told him to step along, to come forward and gain what was always to be his. He was free from everything, from emotions, from pain and stress and worry. There was only bliss, in which he identified the sweetest of voices, a language he hadn't heard in decades, words coming from such a familiar mouth, beneath deeply green, amazing eyes. Her lips curled with a smile for him. He could be with her, they would finally be together, and his concerns were over. She was there, she was his and he was happy.

Lara Dorren aep Shiadhal, stood in a brightly white dress, her hair descending on her shoulders and back, framing her joyful face. She hold out her hand for him.

" _Ceádmil, Crevan."_

He couldn't tear his eyes away from hers, they were everything, his whole and only world. At that moment she was to him more than he ever had felt he needed, she was more than he never had dared imagine she'd be to him. His hand shook as he reached out to her.

Her eyes flinched, her expression cringed and she leaned forward, which startled him. Why was his hand not meeting hers? Why was he falling?

He was torn from reality. Voices screamed inside his skull, crept up his spine and tried to strangle him. Shards slit severely across his limbs, he was sure the floor was filling with his blood and insides, making it sticky. He was blinded by pain, misery, and his lungs burned with air that once again flew to them. For a moment he couldn't tell where he was, who he was, and why he was there. The pain grew worse when the facts came back to him.

He wasn't really there after that.

* * *

It left him scarred. Staying in bed for days didn't help, for there he was alone with his own thoughts. He was weak, and the simplest tasks took considerable amounts of effort. Pain still sometimes radiated in his body, and the line between actual ache and memories became indistinct. But he did pull through, but it was a slow ride. He found himself wondering about his own goals, Ciri's goals, her plan and the people aiding her. And there was his own, clear but imprecise feelings for the little dh'oine, which he hoped he could set aside. There was platonic love, friendship, and even some admiration. There was messy physical attraction, which undoubtedly shook him more than her, and it shadowed his mind.

Gradually he gathered the things he knew for a certainty. First, he did really care for the girl. She was worth following, her Elder Blood was something he was made to perfect and serve, and he cared about how he was going to do it. Second, his undeniable cause for "greater good for elves" became a topic of debate. He'd always believed there was no greater or lesser evil, nor goodness. There was things he felt precious, things other felt precious, and same goes for things that were worthless and insignificant. It was battle for his, and the elves in general, likes and dislikes versus those of humans, dwarfs and other races. It was natural that sometimes they'd crash, and it would result in different reactions and actions. Now he didn't know which side he was on. So the second best option was to be on somebody's side you'd believe in. And that was the promised girl – Cirilla. These two things supported strongly for helping her. But in the end, his loyalties were with himself. Because, thirdly, he was a selfish being. And what he really wanted was now unclear to him, as they so frequently are. But he continued to do her bidding, and what was more, he did it like she wished him to.

* * *

It hit him when they stood on the top of Tor Gvalch'ca. He saw that once all said and done, he wanted her. It came down to which were more important, let her choose her path or ask her to step away. Her needs versus his needs. But he couldn't control her, and he couldn't keep her in a lie.

"Zireael."

Her face was sweaty from the battle. She had inspected the doorway in where he was to open this portal the tower held inside, when she turned her head. Some of her hair had escaped its bun and were flowing with the wind. Her clothes were stained with drops of blood. But it was comical how beautiful he found her.

" _Don't_ die."

Her expression showed no signs of caring. "I thought it didn't matter, as long as I stop the White Frost."

He took a step forward. "I never said such a thing."

Ciri's words were colder than the air surrounding them. "You said I was _a responsibility_." She paced angrily towards him. "So open the damn portal so you'll be finally _free_ of me!"

He flashed onward, and gripped her wrist. Her eyes had wetness in them, although she tried not to let it bother her. He seized the back of her neck, and kissed her.

She gave in at first, and let him thrust their bodies together. It took a moment for Ciri the push him away. Her cheeks glistened with damp lines.

"I love you." Elf's words had a pitifully desperate tone. But she did apparently believe him.

"Avallac'h…" Her voice shook. She turned away, sweeping her sleeve across her face. "It doesn't matter anymore." She vanished behind the columns.

He was late. He was always late. Somehow in all of his own feelings and memories, he couldn't make himself act in the fear of getting hurt. And when he finally did, both times, it didn't really end well for him.

It was never meant to be with him, even if the little human had come close. He raised his arm to summon powers needed for opening the tower.

When the Witcher emerged from the stairs, he didn't care to fight him. It wouldn't bring anything good. Cirilla interrupted them in time to spare Avallac'h from the unneeded blaming. She didn't look at him even once during her conversation with his adopted father.

In the end, the Witcher and the elven sage watched as she disappeared into the doorway.

 _"Va faill, Zireael."_

There was nothing he could do. She would return if she would, and the portal would hold. He left the Witcher to wait for her, in peace.


	4. In my heart of hearts

_My word has like zero credibility._

 _But I had one crazy summer! I was working 24/7, and also tried to pass these classes I had for college. Most importantly, I was playing the Witcher DLC's, which had way too less of Ciri (and Avallac'h!)._

 _So in the middle of it, I thought why not go from the one-shot, into two-three-four chaptered one-shot._

 _But thank you guys, especially for reviewing (which I love) and following and favorite-ing *Insert a little heart here*_ _I've had so much_ _fun with this fic!_

 _But without further ado, here you go._

* * *

He didn't want to know if she made it or not. He was curious, incredibly so, yes. But ultimately it had no upsides.

He had taken too long to make up his mind. The rollercoaster of lust and reject, lined with lies and confessions of love were understandably too upsetting for her.

It felt like something this big, this enormous to him should always be present on the back of his mind. That it would keep him alarmed and remind him of its presence. That if she would perish, die and pass on, he would know. But he felt nothing, there wasn't anything but this tearing feeling of uncertainty. No magic connecting him to her, them together. Nothing had changed, even if he had foolishly hoped so. It physically pained Avallac'h. To not know was it better to grasp the knowledge of her state or not. But this love was selfish, and even if she would be alive, which he didn't even dared to hope for, it would change nothing. It wouldn't fix him. He didn't know what ever could. Maybe he wasn't ever whole to start with, if something could rip him apart like this. Maybe he was getting too _old_.

He unlocked the wide, grey doors to his laboratory. It was dark, but somebody had lit the torches on both sides of the hallway. He should have remembered it wouldn't be empty.

The elf woman had said she'd wait for him, no matter how long it took. What now felt like an eternity, wasn't even a decade, or at least a half of it. No, to Avallac'h and the other Aen Elle it was a week, a month. A passing measure of time that two adults would easily be apart. He had imprudently made a promise to return to her, so they would be together, as they had been for so long now.

He didn't believe in destiny. Not a thing was ever meant to be. Everything was changeable. They forged their own lives, and not a prophecy could be a compelling force, even if it gave the strong taste of direction. Cirilla was not meant to be his, or he hers. And if he had had a chance for it, it was gone. What little else remained was here. The way of easing this numbing pain.

The elf woman wasn't what he wanted. But her hands were soft, and her lips spoke of comfort. A being that was for him, wanting to help. A person who didn't fill him with a feel of instability, responsibility or self-hate. With her he was always in control. And it made him feel good, safe. Those moments when he took she-elf, he wasn't twisted, he was in sweet denial.

The most pathetic thought through their traveling had been a flashing wish for Cirilla to be something of a reincarnation of Lara. That that something he found in her, was supposed to be there, and it would be understandable why he fell for her, one time after another.

But he had to let Zireael to be herself. He shouldn't make her into his version of perfection.

And he just had to accept himself as he was, with this one colossal flaw.

He let the she-elf greet her, let her hug and caress him. She led him in a room they had once shared. He let himself to be weak, and she told him all the things he desired to hear. Why nothing was ever his fault, how he had tried his best and how it was all over now. That he would be happy again, with her. They'd live on, the world wouldn't end. Nothing ended, except the burden he had been supposed to carry. Nothing ended, yet everything was over.

Her hair tangled on the bed sheets, his fingers knotted into hers. Her lipstick was smudged off, to his face and then to her chest. It was everywhere. But when all he wanted to think of was this female elf, to cover himself with her, to ease himself in her, he thought of Ciri.

But the she-elf was perfect for attention. For comfort.

It kept going on for days. He made plans to move his equipment to a new location, he kept organizing his carefully selected items. He had to keep on moving. The elf-woman tried to help his restlessness at night, providing and tending him with an alternative option for sleeping.

For he could not fall asleep and dream.

He was told that his hide-out had been discovered somewhere the same time as their group, Zireael, the witcher and the lodge of sorceresses were staying in the port of Skellige. The she-elf had dressed her unexpected meeting in words, twisting in there truths of her own. But more importantly, it seemed like the silvery haired youth had seen the need to trash his lab. He did not find amusement in his now-ruined portrait of himself, which had been a gift from Ge'els, in a friendlier time. But he understood. The she-elf had been something he had wished Cirilla would not encounter, but it explained a great deal of things.

But it meant Ciri knew where his laboratory was. And if he left… she wouldn't know where to look for him.

So weeks turned into months, and they turned to years.

* * *

Slowly memories became hazy, made him afraid of recalling every detail. But he didn't seem to be capable to move on from his hideout. He lived in the middle of mist, where he couldn't bring himself to think of Zireael, but weren't able to simply forget. He thought that it would be better to do just so. He longed for it. But he was afraid that if he'd let that happen, he wouldn't be himself anymore. So for the fog that hazed all around him, he couldn't act or think, and a day by day he fell into deeper. He couldn't tell anymore when it had occurred, if there had been a conversation or a warning, but he was alone. The she-elf was gone.

So it was yet a greater surprise, when he was woken from his anxiety with a knock.

An uneasy call of his name.

He lifted his head from his papers, the same ones he had been staring for better half of the day or the month.

It was hard to comprehend what he saw, and whatever had he fallen asleep in the middle of his study, or had he finally stopped to wake up.

"… Cirilla?"

"Hi."

Rather rudely, the sage stared. Silence.

There, in his hallway, stood a woman, a witchress. Head to toe in light armor and with two swords on her back. Her hair dripping over her shoulders, with a new set of scars he hadn't seen before. Even if she and her father figure shared no blood relations, the resemblance was significant. The way she stood, her posture and the air around her, there was danger. Yet her expression spoke of uncertainty.

"I don't know why I came here. It just felt like something was… unfinished."

He gathered he was standing when the chair behind him made a sharp crashing sound against the stone floor, resonating from the walls.

He rushed to hug her, intertwining his hands behind her lower back, fingers slipping between her swords and her. He held her against him, in a fashion that this time, he would never let go. She couldn't go away anymore, she had to be here. For him. He wouldn't allow anything else. He felt her arms folding around him.

"I'm so sorry-" She was shaking.

He just needed to be near her, to feel her. "No, it's my apology to give." It was hard to make his eyes meet hers.

"No, I tried to-, you tried to forget! This doesn't make any sense. Why can't we just-"

"I'm sorry Ciri, I'm so sorry…"

They kept apologizing, giving unneeded explanations, trying to express something that would reflect what they felt. Trying to get some sense of what was happening, but giving no thought what would happen when their embrace ended.

"You can't go away anymore. I won't allow it."

"I can't stay. This is not who we are. This is not what we were meant to do."

"I don't care."

It almost prevented her from speaking. "We can't do this." A sniff. "We can't ever live a happily-ever-after. You know that."

He had to kiss her. It was too difficult not to. Her cheeks were wet, and he brushed his thumb across in an effort to try and dry them.

She mumbled into the kiss.

"I think I love you."

Even if it was highly unexpected, in that exact moment, everything in him shattered.

It echoed in his head. It filled him. It swept away all his fears. He knew at that instance, that he would never be the same, he would never be broken again. Nobody could ever take this away from him. He couldn't answer, but he didn't need to. He kept kissing her, a smile curling on the side of his mouth, and he tilted her slightly backwards.

A man in love is a strange thing. Evidently so peculiar, that it cannot be understood. There are no limits or bounds to the distance he would go for. Essentially, there is no patterns because it's unique, every time. It can be scary, confusing, it can drown you or bring you back to life.

But it cannot be forgotten.


End file.
